Like a Dog Chasing Cars
by RunMoogles
Summary: They call it self-reflection, or self-discovery. I think it has more to do with realization. Epiphany. Maybe even close enough to the denouement. In that case… then what? The end of the infection didn’t necessarily imply the end of me… did it? POST-GAME.
1. Prelude to a Disaster

**Like a Dog Chasing Cars**

A/N: SPOILER ALERT. Okay, so, I'm going start, right off the bat, with an alteration of the ending. Cross doesn't turn into a supreme hunter. Instead, a supreme hunter is able to disguise itself and attack Cross and Zeus. This story picks up after the defeat of the supreme hunter and the dropping of the nuke into the ocean.

Disclaimer: I do not own Prototype, nor any properties of Activision. Characters unrecognizable are obviously my OCs. Eric Morris belongs to _Herrlichkeit_.

* * *

_Pain. I wasn't a stranger to it. A very dominant part of me had wanted this to be it. After I'd lost a race with the nuke, I'd thought that I might finally know peace. I was wrong… _

_I seem to be wrong about quite a lot. In fact, I'm not so sure what I've been right about. I was brought into this world wrong, thought wrong, heard wrong, did wrong. So then, it only seemed about right. Fitting, for me, at least._

_I was wrong. I would survive. That supreme hunter had wanted to consume me just for that very reason; because, like a cockroach, I could apparently survive nuclear blasts. And if scientists still thought that I couldn't cross bodies of water, they'd have to explain how my naked biomass had plastered itself to the pier after a lengthy swim, begging for a sacrifice. At least I wasn't the only one wrong here._

_I was wrong. I would survive. I would continue to exist. My purpose? I don't know. Maybe… maybe I could rid Manhattan of the Redlight infestation. Maybe there was still hope in saving Dana. Maybe a cure could be contrived to save those who hadn't already lost their minds. It was not my goal to be the hero of the people or anything. It was simply that… well, what else was left?_

_I hated to think about it, and I still do, but… what about after all of this? _

_While I deterred the dropping of the nuke, it wasn't likely that the news channels would be very correct on the matter. A governmental excuse would certainly be conceived. I wasn't looking for credit. I was hardly looking for justice any longer. I'd gotten half of my justice when Dr. Mercer's dead body collapsed on me. The rest was gathered from the systematic deaths of the entire Gentek family, and much of Blackwatch._

_They call it self-reflection, or self-discovery. I think it has more to do with realization. Epiphany. Maybe even close enough to the denouement. In that case… then what? The end of the infection didn't necessarily imply the end of me… did it?_

_Most days, I know Cross seemed to think so._

* * *

Dana Mercer was by no means a frail young woman. She was a resilient human being with an uncanny resourcefulness. She had long ago mastered the ability of learning what others did not want anyone else to know. This not only boosted her worth in the field of journalism, but it also made her incredibly important and useful to her brother, Alex Mercer.

However, it wasn't simply her usefulness to him that had given him pause for thought on strategy when the leader hunter had abruptly crashed into her safe hole and stolen her during the midst of a conversation. A conversation, in fact, that had taken an abrupt and awkward turn at that very moment. It had begun with an earlier visit; when he had started speaking without much consideration or filtration of his words, and Dana had stood to turn him toward her, demanding that he explain the wild things falling passed his lips. It had only served to disturb her even further as he pushed her boundaries to the limit. It must have seemed, to her, that his sanity was at a breaking point. Strong as she was, even she was cowering back, moving away from him, before she was backed into a desk. _Find Ragland_, she'd said. It seemed like a 'get some help' sort of statement, and 'get out of my space, please'.

That conversation hadn't been ended with his departure that day. It continued to hang in the air. He returned after an episode of sabotage. After meeting Ragland and finding a way to rid himself of the cancer that had been engineered to take him down, he'd returned to his sister with apologies. While Dana didn't know the whole truth, she had come, quite surprisingly, to learn some of it. She had dissected enough of his words, actions, and wants to know that he wasn't the same anymore. Voices, powers, people he'd _killed_. Them being _in _him. Her brother wasn't human any longer. In a way, he'd used her, and they both knew that. Dana stated that he was still her brother, convinced that there was something left of Alex Mercer left in there, inside of the body that had belonged to her older sibling. Then… that was that. She was gone. Out of his reach.

After time stretched and priorities loomed over him, he slowly became certain that she would stay that way forever. His encounter with Elizabeth Greene had been, perhaps, the worst. In her memories, among so many other disturbing things, was his sister. She was somewhere in New York. She was alive.

While he attempted to convince himself that finding her was unimportant, he still sought her out. He'd found her, eventually. Without thinking anymore on why he should or should not care, he carried her to Ragland's safe house where the doctor could watch over her. Dr. Ragland had informed him that she was in a coma. Maybe she'd wake up. Maybe not. He convinced himself that he had much more important matters to consider than the well being of Mercer's sister.

Still, without permission, concerns for her did surface at the oddest of times.

* * *

It was a quiet, chilly night not unlike the rest. Perhaps that only difference was that Mercer was spending this particular night on Ragland's back balcony. He sat on the floor of the balcony, his legs draped over the edge and his arms propped on a lower support. The side of his pale face lay against a bar as he stared off into the sea of dilapidated concrete buildings and sky scrapers.

Perhaps, somewhere in the mess of things, when he'd learned the truth of himself, he'd dehumanized himself the way Blackwatch command had right from the start. He was an 'it'. He was ZEUS. He was Blacklight DX-1118. He'd been smashed from a vial, single cells locking on to Alex Mercer's in order to inject a written code and consume the body; all to assume control. Yet he knew justice. He knew that what Alex Mercer and Gentek had done was unforgivable. Still, he figured that the ends justified the means, and that if New York was free of the disease, then he'd done the ultimate right.

What he felt right now… it was human feeling. Concern. It bewildered him. Much like when he'd first awoken. He'd been scared shitless. He'd panicked first, felt anger and unrelenting rage later, and finally… loneliness, dread, resentment, and all the bitter tasting emotions that fulfilled revenge left in its wake. Up until the facts, the missing puzzle pieces to his very core nature, had been revealed, he'd stumbled around blindly for answers. His mind seemed human enough; his very self clutched onto memories written by Alex's brain cells upon happening. They hadn't been ZEUS' memories, but they hurt him just the same.

Had he wanted so badly to be human? Had occupying a human body, a complex, multicellular, thinking animal caused the single cell virus to panic? Perhaps that was the problem. Blacklight, like any virus, wasn't meant to control such a complex being. He watched how the hunters behaved. Even the supreme hunter, who was intelligent enough to speak and plot, had been a twisted being. Imperfect. They were all imperfect, ugly, and out of control.

Alex raised the palms of his hands a little, spreading his fingers and inspecting them. He had full control at all times. He had a sense of independence. He could adapt to any environment, conquer any kind of cell, memorize and replicate any genetic sequence, and he could exist as his own entity. He knew this, because he knew that he was nothing like the real Alex Mercer.

"Alex." Dr. Ragland's voice spoke from the slider door frame, and Mercer craned his neck around to look up at the doctor. "I… you should…" Ragland was trying his best at consoling him, Alex knew. He pawed at the air lightly, effectively waving away anything concerning Dana the man was about to say, and turned back around, looking out over Manhattan.

"I'm going to need to make a trip to the store soon." Ragland finally said, rubbing his face. He was exhausted… and hungry.

"Just give me a list." Alex said with a sigh, pushing aside his musings as he grasped the bars and pulled himself up.

* * *

"He's unpredictable." Cross stated, his arms crossed over a chest covered by a standard issue grey t-shirt. He was a tall, broad shouldered man, clothed in camouflage pants and barefoot. His voice was raspy and authoritative, and everything about the man exuded leader and hunter.

"I trust him." Eric said easily, scooping some food out of his dish and shoveling it into his mouth. Eric was a Blackwatch soldier, but you wouldn't have known him to be a soldier at all by the way he was dressed. He donned a comfortable pair of jeans and not much else. He had cropped black hair that had been growing a little unruly since his prolonged stay on Manhattan Island. There were worse things to be concerned with than hair that grew like a weed. He had grey eyes that saw most every detail but dodged being caught in the act. Eric was, after all, the kind to notice much and remain hardly noticed. He was also due for a shave, the shadow across his jaw evidence.

"Exactly." Cross grumbled, shifting his eyes downwards to glare at the younger man sitting at the table with his feet propped up. Eric shrugged.

"I don't believe we'll be able to accomplish the cleansing process on our own." Eric said, taking a swig of water. "Not only that, but he's evaded all attempts at capture anyway." This statement was pointed, and if it were even possible, Cross' frown deepened. He had been personally in charge of capturing ZEUS with his team, the _Wise Men._ He'd failed. Countless times. This unsettled the man who was not used to failing. In the end, he'd covertly contacted ZEUS and worked with him. Rather, he'd gotten the _virus_ to work for him.

"The uppers won't like it." The Specialist said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"The uppers can shove it-".

"Captain Cross, 1st Lieutenant Morris. We have an update for you." Thomas Watson strode into the room without knocking, handing the higher ranking officer a folder. The red headed soldier promptly saluted to the two, and then left. Cross flipped open the folder and quickly began examining the contents.

"Huh… I guess this decides things for us, doesn't it?" He said after a moment of reading the documents within. A repetitive twitch of his eye bespoke some annoyance. He handed them to Eric for the other man to look them over. A smile quickly flushed across his face.

"Sure does. Looks like a visit with Dr. Ragland is on the schedule, eh?"


	2. Introduce a Little Anarchy

"_Why don't you ask me what it feels like to be a freak?" - Demon Speeding, Rob Zombie._

"We're in." A radio logged the voice of the leader over amongst several teams' comm. links. Men clothed in military camouflage and heavy masks stepped lightly through an infested apartment complex. Everywhere along the walls was evidence of the rapid growth characteristic of Redlight. It was disgusting, but these soldiers had grown long accustomed to it.

"What are your sights, Echo?"

"Obvious infestation, no signs of movement, yet." They kept up their slow and silent trek, heads craning around at all times in the attempts to see and hear everything all at once.

"Delta behind you, covering."

"Sounds up ahead." The leader of Echo team answered, informing the other teams within the building of any suspicious activity.

"Charlie's hot! Charlie's hot!" The team ahead of them lit up a room with the heavy fire of their rifles. The sound of rabid growling and roaring combated to rise above that of the weaponry.

"Move in! Covering fire! Go, go, go!" The leader of Echo motioned with his fist, pumping a fore finger toward where another team was currently under pressure. "Command, send in air!"

"We've got a score here, Delta, move in!" Delta, who was behind them, could be heard tromping up the stairs that Echo had already cleared. At least, so they'd thought.

"Delta? Delta! Delta, answer!"

"Fuck, how could they ambush us? They're fucking animals!" Echo's leader's voice was panicked, filled with disbelief, and cracked under the pressure. "What the fuck is going on?"

"This is Wise Men, we're dropping at ten, get your asses out of there." A well known voice stated over all of their comm. links. It was 1st Lt. Morris. The Lt. often served as a communication bridge between Blackwatch's _Wise Men _and the military.

"We're bogged!" Delta finally screamed out. That was the last two words they heard from team Delta, though. The stairs quieted. Both the growling and the guns had silenced.

"This is Specialist. ZEUS is in. Get your asses out of there." Cross's voice seemed like a godsend, even if the news wasn't good.

"Hold the rain." First Lt. Morris ordered to the air strike package that Echo had sent for roughly five minutes earlier.

"We're over, drop." The indifferent status came from the strike package.

"Hold it!"

"Drop in sequence." Orders had been delivered, and they were following through. Damn military. This was definitely another petty little fight between Blackwatch and the marines.

"Can't you listen to orders, you fucking morons! God damn!" The Echo leader heard Morris's yell of indignation before he spun to face the direction his team had come from. Delta had gone eerily quiet way too fast.

"Having trouble?" came the voice he never hoped to hear in his lifetime. Samuel Jameson wasn't a bad man. In fact, he'd been a teacher once. After a divorce with his wife and split custody with his kids, though, his life had been falling into ruin. It was with the hopes of bettering things that he joined up with some friends. For him, it would be a second time. It would also be his last.

"Please… don't." Samuel raised an empty hand, palm facing ZEUS as he lowered his rifle and shuffled back a few steps. Most of his men were up ahead upon his orders to cover Charlie team.

"Don't… what." It growled, stepping closer, the manifested sword that replaced his arm appearing far more menacing than each second before.

"Don't kill me. Please, don't." Samuel felt himself crouching, sinking to the ground. He held one hand up still, his body in trembles and his other arm sunken to the ground under the weight of a useless weapon.

"You're going to die anyway." ZEUS whispered. As if on cue, the building ruptured with light and fire. Samuel didn't even have the opportunity to hear the missiles detonate. He was simply consumed by the very weapon he'd ordered in. Seconds before impact, ZEUS had turned his face toward the whistling sound only he could hear. The boom of the missile echoed in his mind as everything became far too bright to bear. Instinctively, he raised a hand to his face, before the shock of the explosion flung him from the building. The air felt open as he plummeted towards the ground, landing with a thud that left a crater around him. Pieces of plaster, plumbing, infected bodies, and soldiers went flying everywhere like morbid confetti.

ZEUS laid on the cement, cells promptly pulling together what had been ripped and torn, as he watched. Blacklight infected tissues curled across his face, pulled in from his arms and legs, and finalized the stitching of his torso before replicating the final product once more.

He stood, looking down the alleyway almost lazily, to see Cross walking towards him. The man's permanent frown was epic today. Lt. Morris was right behind him, as seemed most natural these days.

"You agreed not to kill my men!" Cross's anger couldn't remain contained any longer. Robert Cross was a man who could probably play one hell of a game of poker. However, he had a temper that few lived to regale anyone else with.

"They weren't your men." ZEUS stated, his voice deep and hoarse. "They were military."

"They work for me!"

"Yes… I could tell, when the strike package fired the missiles anyway." ZEUS spat, dropping his ear to his shoulder real quick for a loud pop. Cross rubbed his face, and in that action, appeared to rub away his frustration with the matter. In mere seconds, he regained complete and utter control.

"Morris, report this to military command." Cross was referring to the disregard for orders against missile firing. Eric nodded in understanding, peeking around Cross's side to give an informal wave like salute to Alex before he took off to carry out the order. The virus' expression was humorless, and his only acknowledgement of the soldier was his line of sight.

"Take this." Cross said, tossing a cell phone to ZEUS. He caught it languidly, flipping open the screen experimentally before shutting it and turning his attention back to the Specialist. "Maybe next time it won't be so messy. The idea is to work _with _the military, ZEUS." Cross explained, turning as if to leave.

"You know, I realize you have a sick time tearing people apart, but, keep in mind that we're trying to clear the island of infected." Cross admonished. Deep to the his very core, Cross was both disappointed and angry when he'd had to hear Samuel Jameson beg for his life futilely. ZEUS was quiet for a moment, appearing to chew on his lower lip. Is that what it really looked like to Cross?

"They _were _infected, Cross." ZEUS said finally. Cross raised an eyebrow before a sheen of understanding flashed across his face.

"The military isn't aware that you had the ability to tell. I will inform them." He explained, even though he himself hadn't had this information until now either. "Has Ragland found a cure yet?"

"No." He said. "The virus' core ability is to replicate at an alarming rate. Nothing seems able to consume it faster than it can replicate. It's an extreme form of cancer, I guess." His explanation was almost word for word from Dr. Ragland's mouth. Hell, Alex wasn't the one who stared through a microscope all day (anymore). Cross nodded in understanding to ZEUS's regurgitation of information before he turned around to leave.

"Alright." He said over his shoulder. "I'll contact you if we need you." With that, Cross rounded the corner. The virus could hear him rounding up soldiers and returning order to the chaos that had ensued. ZEUS closed his eyes, folding his hands into his jean pockets, and zoning inward.

'_Dead. She dead.'_

'_They hurts. They hurts.'_

'_She dead, they hurts.'_

'_Kill them, they hurts. They kill her, we kill them. Make them hurts.'_

"Hmm… hasn't changed." He muttered to himself as he opened his eyes. When he'd hoped that the hive mind would grow chaotic and unified with the absence of Elizabeth Greene, he'd thought wrong. They weren't necessarily organized, but their thinking was unified. Still, they were weakened, he decided. Without organization, they wouldn't be able to surmount a sizeable attack, right? Greene had been the source of their adaptation, he knew. Now that Greene was gone, it was just a matter of clean up, right?

* * *

"Hello America, this is Joanne Foster with the five o'clock news. We bring you back to the tenuous situation in Manhattan. I'm here with refugees who aren't allowed to leave the island. Unrest has begun with the drawback in viral attacks. Many people would like to unite with their families on the mainland, but right now, the government has stated that borders will remain closed." Her voice, that of a reporter's, stated the verdict with an impeccable frankness. Her blue eyes, though, held a genuine concern.

"The military stated that they've been ordered to patrol the waters for any chancing a crossing. As a vaccine has not yet been formulated, they're not able to provide a time or date in which a release will be possible." Foster went on to say.

"Joanne, what about reports and sightings on the terrorist who released this virus?" The anchorman asked from the home base production set. Foster nodded as he spoke, already aware of the question.

"Well, Jim," she addressed him, "there have actually been less and less sightings of ZEUS, as the military has taken to calling him. He's evaded capture so far, but it appears he remains on the island."

"Thank you Joanne. Stay tuned and in an hour we'll give you a view of Manhattan as its condition stands today." With that, Jim flashed a well rehearsed smile, and televisions around the states switched to a commercial.

"Nothing different from what they've been spouting since last week." Ragland said, slowly standing from his chair and stretching. Several pops and cracks ensued. He looked across the morgue to see Alex hovering over a body, perched on a stool. He didn't offer a response to Ragland's statement. The pathologist shuffled across the lab and pulled up a similar stool.

"She doesn't show any signs of infection." Ragland whispered. It just seemed right to whisper, being that he might be intruding on the virus' thoughts. A virus that thought… Ragland rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses, still wrapping his mind around the wonder that was ZEUS.

"She's not." It stated. No… he. He stated, Ragland corrected himself. ZEUS had chosen to maintain the premise of Alex Mercer's appearance. Alex calmly planted the palm of his hand over his face and dragged it downward slowly, looking up toward the ceiling as his hand fell back into his lap. "I still don't get it."

"Don't get what?"

"What Greene said. She said 'she's with us now'. Why would she say that when Dana's not even infected?" His voice held a hint of despairing confusion, and a bit of hesitant relief. "I'd hoped I'd get the answer out of her, but right now I just wish she was here so I could beat it out of her." Alex slumped, closing his eyes.

"She was a strong adversary. I'm glad you got rid of her when you did." Ragland said, his expression wary. He glanced at Alex out of the corner of his eye before returning it to Dana.

"Ragland… when they were working on Blacklight…," Alex paused, digesting the way he spoke in third person as though in denial. "They were formulating a cure, while also a weapon. This was to fight cancer." He explained. Ragland followed the off roading train of thought with precision and practice. Alex rarely maintained a single focus, it seemed.

"From what I understand from the information that was given to me," Ragland offered. His dull expression quickly lit with a question. "How would they possibly be able to use such a violent virus as a cure?" Alex began nodding as the doctor voiced his own thoughts aloud, but slowed to a halt. Violent? He frowned, as if resolute with the fact that his violence was completely justified and by no means empty of purpose.

"I wonder if they have any information on this stored in their studies…," Ragland mused aloud, completely oblivious to the now significantly grumpier than usual virus.

"I doubt it. Gentek was destroyed, remember?" Alex said, getting over himself quickly. Both of them looked down to Dana, wishing she'd wake up and snap her fingers to a keyboard for them. "Hmm… and it seems like Blackwatch is following them." Alex said, rubbing his cheek absentmindedly. Ragland stared at him; not just because of yet another subject redirection, but because he'd never seen Alex behave so… so… what was the word.

"What are you doing?" Ragland asked as he watched Alex chew on his lower lip. Alex turned his unnaturally bright blue eyes toward Ragland, his expression open and confused. "Why are you chewing on your lip?" Alex let go of his lip as though he had no idea he'd been doing so. He glanced over his left shoulder as though someone were standing behind him, then back at Ragland.

"I don't know." He said frankly. Ragland's eyebrows furrowed before he shook his head.

"You can pass for a regular human more and more every day, you know. You're even picking up human habits." He said, looking down at his short nails.

"I still won't allow regular functions, thanks." Alex said, humor lighting up his eyes. Ragland looked up at the virus before his old face cracked with a smile at the sight.

"So, no looking to get yourself a girl, huh?" He asked jokingly. Alex looked down at his hands and shook his head, a smile actually turning up the corners of his mouth. Ragland wasn't a fool, and knew that with a smile like that, Alex could turn quite a few girls' heads. Then he remembered. This was Dr. Mercer's body… not Blacklight's. His smiled promptly faded. The more he learned about ZEUS, the more he pitied the creature's situation.

"Ragland?" The doctor looked up at Alex, who was staring at Dana's face. The doctor had known ZEUS long enough to know that his expression was a lost one. It quickly faded, as though the nakedness of such a weak feeling was more than the virus could bear.

"Why don't you take a sample of Blacklight and see if you can't find a way to restructure it into a cure." Redirection. Again.

"I was wondering when you would ask." Ragland said, standing to cross the lab and find a clean syringe. Alex returned his gaze to his hands, a silent sigh tumbling passed his lips as his brow furrowed. Ragland returned, and Alex pulled an entire sleeve away. It was replicated with DNA, so the sleeves of his left arm simply pulled back into himself so that Ragland could have clear access to skin.

"This might pinch a little." Ragland said with a joking smile.

"Oh… I'm so—OW!" His voice had begun with a sarcastic air before Ragland prodded him with the needle. "You didn't need to be so vengeful about it." Alex muttered, his expression furrowed. A light humor hovered around him, betraying any attempts at serious upset.

Ragland couldn't refuse the wry grin that tugged the corners of his own lips upward. He was glad to see the virus' personality beginning to emerge. When Blacklight had first stumbled in, he'd needed treatment for an attacking parasite that had been injected into his body by a blackwatch soldier. Since then, the two had been working together. Ragland knew that Alex kept a lot from him. There was a lot that Blacklight was dealing with that he didn't know the exact details over. However, he did know that the only people that the virus could trust and rely on were really the only people in this room. It made for a very scary existence for one so literally young, let alone in a tenuous and dangerous position. Not that they all weren't in a bad spot, but he certainly wouldn't want to be in Blacklight's seat. Under all of this pressure, he'd seen very little of Alex's personality. It was so easy to recognize that he was a virus in those days. Ragland wanted to help him. He found himself caring about the virus with each new human trait, human emotion, and complex thought pattern that emerged.

Blacklight was more than just a virus. Of this, Dr. Ragland was convinced. It warmed his heart when things occurred that verified his hypothesis.

Suddenly, Dr. Ragland's phone rang. Both looked at each other quizzically before the doctor answered. Some words were exchanged, and Alex listened in shamelessly.

"I guess Joanne Foster wants an interview with me." Ragland cringed as he hung up the phone. "I declined." He said, setting the sample somewhere safe. He knew Alex had heard the entire conversation, but was humoring the virus.

"Why?" Alex asked, his expression blank.

"We're both in a very tenuous position right now." Ragland explained. "Although… I've heard she's not a reporter to ever be strayed from a target." He said with a chuckle, thinking that he was joking.

Alex took him quite seriously.


	3. Lay the Dominoes Carefully

A/N: This month I've been dedicating myself to NaNoWriMo. I've picked up a second job and a family member of mine has been undergoing a degenerative disease that's been affecting the whole family in one way or another. So, I sincerely apologize for making it seem like I've abandoned this story. I have definitely not! Actually, a little over of a month ago I'd completely lost my notebook with the outline and everything and I just found it! I'd been playing Prototype the other day just to smash and devour people as a stress reliever when it really got me aggressive about finding the outline. Thank you for those of you who have stuck with me, and an even greater thank you to those who have reviewed! You remind me, keep me motivated, and give me a reason to keep writing and I really need that right now! Thank you!

* * *

"A few days ago, three military units were destroyed by missile fire into an infected building. Reports state suspected sabotage by the terrorist known as ZEUS." Joanne Foster spoke in front of the charred remains of a blasted building. Her expression was as grim as the news she was reporting. She was quite a sight in comparison to the backdrop that lay behind her. With her auburn hair up in a stylistic up do, curls and ringlets tumbling around her oval painted face, it was difficult to imagine she was truly standing in a crumbling and dying city infected with a strange and horrific disease. "Families have been notified as there have not been any survivors found. We can only hope that with continued military support a solution can be found."

"Back to you, Jim." The screen flashed back to the smiling anchorman as he began on some Midwest storm. Marian sat huddled against the armrest of her couch, tissues all around her. She'd received the phone call. She'd already lost her husband to this fiasco during the beginning. Now her brother had also lost his life. With increasing pace, she felt like everything around her was falling apart.

Well… perhaps not everything. She curled her finger through a tuft of soft hair and looked down at the little boy curled up with his head rested in her lap. Leaning against him was his older sister. Jonathan and Lilly, one thirteen and the other ten. They were all she had left and she was damned if this infection would take them from her. For now, though, she really ought to stock the kitchen. She woke Lilly and let her know that she'd be back in a few. She reminded her of all the protocols they held that had kept them alive thus far before she locked the door on her way out.

Dusk, very early morning just moments before the sun began its trek up and the air was frigid cold with the lingering of night, seemed the best time to make this journey. There was less commotion and everything still felt very much asleep. It always seemed the safest time to leave the safety of their home but still, she made as much as she could. She stopped at a long abandoned 7-Eleven where she stocked up on as much water as she could first before she began tossing cans in the grocery basket she usually brought with her. Light from the sun began spilling into the little corner market and so she began to hurry, leaving the little place and bee-lining it for her apartment complex. She moved quickly, her movements jerky and hasty as she walked. She hated it when she could hear the 'boom's of military fighting against the unnatural and horrific screams and roars of the infected.

She was nearing the door to her apartment complex when something struck her out of nowhere. She was knocked to the ground by the strategic blow to her head. When her bleary eyes looked up she saw a man in a coat and her last thought was, 'my children'.

* * *

"_Nature, nurture, heaven and home  
Sum of all and by them driven  
To conquer every mountain shown  
But have never crossed the river  
Braved the forest braved the stone  
Braved the icy winds and fire  
Braved and beat them on my own  
Yet I'm helpless by the river_

_Angel, angel what have I done?  
I've faced the quakes the wind, the fire  
I've conquered country, crown, and throne  
Why can't I cross this river?_

_Pay no mind to the battles you've won  
It'll take a lot more than rage and muscle  
Open your heart and hands my son  
Or you'll never make it over the river  
It'll take a lot more that words and guns  
A whole lot more than riches and muscle  
The hands of the many must join as one  
And together we'll cross the river."_

_- Humbling River, Puscifer_

He stood as a lone monument upon the edge of a sky scraper. Outlined in the after glow of the setting sun, he appeared as a living god, a death bringer, an angel. Swathed in secrecy, one leg propped higher than the other, a hand idly rested on a knee, he peered over the chaos with a guarded expression of poise and detached observation. Below him, the last of the living virus ate itself and screams called out over the dilapidated streets. Mottled creatures tumbled over themselves as they sought out all that was left to consume and spread.

A long sigh fell from his nostrils as he slowly closed his eyes, dropping the angle of his hooded head to look at his hand. He had done this. No, Alex Mercer had. The identities were separate. Yet, if he had, why should he feel guilty? He was not human. He did not feel for humans.

Even so, in his mind were the memories of thousands. Countless voices screaming in fear, cooing in content, moaning in ecstasy, shouting in outrage, laughing with delight, and living the most mundane and the most secret moments of their lives every day within his mind. With this vast power he'd been given, this mobility granted by the death of one of his makers, had also come a price, it seemed. He could not function without it. Without consuming, he could not hold this form. He would not stop, he knew. He did not need Ragland's acceptance of that fact to continue one, and he would not accept remaining as a human.

He was not human, and he was not your normal virus.

He possessed an intelligence beyond that of the flu or HPV. He could pick and choose his victim. He could feel their existence as he ended it, and he would carry them forever within him. They would be immortal to him. He raised a hand in thought and clenched the fingers tightly, feeling them there, feeling the tendons tense and pull the digits together. All the mechanisms of being human, he could isolate these things and appreciate it. After dropping the nuke in the ocean, he'd come to that conclusion. He learned what he really was, what it really felt to be what he was, and he never wanted to feel that again.

But could he remain in this state of liminality forever? Could he accept this unexplainable between space? Not quite human, not quite virus? Then what was he? The questions that no one could answer save for himself boiled in his gut like a wicked, sick thing coiled and threatening.

He moved slowly to the other side of the building before nonchalantly stepping from the ledge. Weightlessness grabbed him but it was as natural to him as walking was to anyone else. His arms lifted in the drag from falling, but he otherwise remained as he was until the ground swallowed him. There was an indentation around him where he landed, and he leapt from it in a hop and fell into a jog that slowed into a walk. There was no one in the area. The island was slowly consuming itself as the virus remained trapped, unable to find anymore suitable hosts as the ones it was contained in slowly over mutated and decayed.

With his hands in his pockets, he continued his walk casually a few blocks down. Many blocks down, actually, and night had fallen by the time he reached a bar. There was no sound to attract any infected. This was a quiet place tucked away and hidden in the hopes that people could still have a place to come to that would allow them a small respite away from their realities.

Too bad he knew where it was.

Or not, because he was here on some form of the obnoxious mission Cross and his crony had in mind. In his own personal opinion, which didn't seem to matter much to anyone else, ZEUS didn't find it wise to cram his already foul tempered possibly contagious self into a stuffy room with people attempting to escape the outside and the infection with it. However, Cross, or Lt. Morris more likely, seemed to think of no possible way any of this could go wrong. Anyway, Mercer was slightly interested, in the off chance it would happen, in capturing and re-directing that Foster woman before she found them. He wanted his and Ragland's safe house to remain just that for as long as he could help it, and a nosy reporter wanting a story showing up at his door step wouldn't not assist him in that goal.

He sloughed his way down the steps, actually uncomfortable with the situation. Morris was sitting on the rails of the stairs, and when the soldier, dressed in more casual base clothes and a loose camouflage jacket, saw him, his face cracked into a smile. Alex stared, unsure why anyone would be so happy to see him. Nevertheless, he did not mirror the smile. His sharp blue eyes peered out from under the hood as if to say 'to the point, please?' Eric Morris knew that look well, and did not waste time.

"Besides looking to get laid, we're supposed to be listening in on to what people are planning for the riot. Apparently there's been word on it." Eric whispered quietly as the two stood close. It didn't surprise Alex that the soldier wasn't uncomfortable standing so close. He wasn't the only one after the nuke had dropped. A winter of sorts had been causing awkwardly colder weather than it should have been in odd bursts and being Alex he was naturally a walking furnace.

It made no difference to ZEUS. If they wanted to stand in breathing, coughing, sneezing distance at least this time they couldn't blame him for whatever illness they happened to catch.

"You just want to get laid," the virus nearly growled, disbelieving of how he'd gotten sucked into this. He shoved passed Eric and went to the door, saying the password he'd gotten from the mind of a frequent visitor (that wouldn't be so frequent anymore).

Inside it was more like a 1930's underground bar. It was quiet, people spoke in hushed whispers. There was a pool table and a small radio played very softly, but mostly people sat around to drink and eat stew from a large communal pot. Eric bee-lined for the bar and Alex naturally followed him. The virus was undoubtedly slightly awkward in such close proximity to creatures he wasn't supposed to be maiming.

A cheery young girl not even nearly legally of age to drink came over to top them off. Eric prattled an order and Alex just offered to copy him, looking down at his folded hands on the bar counter.

"Drop your hood, dude." Eric muttered, glancing behind Alex. Thinking that maybe some behavior of his was suspicious and attracting attention, he followed his companion's line of sight as he pulled down his hood. His sharp blue eyes met a slightly familiar wide pair of blue ones. Mercer quickly realized he'd been yanked into a ploy as the girl smiled and began walking over. Alex turned a mutinous glare, that could have melted a tank, on Eric when the girl sat down beside him.

"Hi! Joanne Foster! Who might you be?" Alex raised an eyebrow and turned slowly to examine her, now realizing why she'd looked so familiar. Eric grew very still beside him, hardly breathing as he began to recognize the familiar predatory behavior. Naturally, a crooked grin caught one corner of ZEUS's lips, pulling them up in a devilishly ornery way that he was in no control of whatsoever.


	4. I'm Not a Hero

A/N: Hi. 8D I just want you all to know that… when I get stuck and start lip gnawing… I go and read reviews. Thank you to everyone that has given me a lovely review to snack on while I slave over a hot laptop. Give me some more fresh ones please. 8D

EDIT: Thank you to Aronim for taking the time to supple such an in depth review on this chapter!

* * *

"You mean _the _Joanne Foster?" Eric shoved past Alex, disrupting the thing's line of thought for a moment just long enough to save the woman's life and the sanctity of this small haven. Even though the virus didn't break eye contact with the woman throughout the disturbance, his smirk promptly washed from his face and a frustrated expression crept across his features slowly. Foster's face never broke from its pleasant smile, although her attention did dive toward Eric who came forward and offered to shake her hand.

"Hi, I'm Eric Morris," he said, "and this is my cousin Mark Herald." Mercer's face didn't change, and he didn't appear even the least bit surprised.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morris," she drawled pleasantly. She really was very pretty, Alex assessed by Eric's behavior. Although, he wasn't sure if the man was just playing her to save her life or was actually attracted to her. "And you as well, Mark," she spoke, offering him her hand. Her use of familiarity with his name was completely lost on him, but Eric's eyebrows did quirk upward slightly. Alex shook her hand, which he had to work very hard not to crush. It felt very tiny, fine boned and frail in his hands. Even though he'd seen the gesture of greeting many times, he'd never actually tried it himself. Her hands were also frigid, and he did catch her breathy comment on how warm his were. He didn't respond to it.

"I've never seen you guys around here before. I come here so often that I know a fresh face or two when I see them," Foster tossed them a wink, pleasant as always when she spoke. She was clearly skilled in the art of 'meet and greet' and conversation. Alex was not, and he mentally receded from the conversation as Eric and her took over.

Alex could feel his mind beginning to wander, and as it did, it meandered over the room. The commotion of this space was nearly non existent, to be far. There was only soft chatter, and everything exuded an air of relaxation and calm. To the humans, anyway. When Eric had pulled him from his prey, he was left to stand in a room full of foreign beings with sense acutely alert to sense every bit of breathing, clanking spoons, forks and knives, shuffling and dealing cards, shattering, coughing, laughing, scooting chairs, tapping fingers, bumping balls across a pool table, brushing hair behind their ears, quieting their children into a hushed nap, kissing and flirting, drinking and adjusting their postures. The room became unbearably small, and within his mind were the voices of hundreds all shopping, talking, crying, screaming, studying and learning, fucking, dying, cleansing, cooking, birthing, wishing, running…

Alex brushed past Eric and headed for the door. As soon as he was out he flipped up his hood and curled his fists into his leather jacket's pockets. Puffs of foggy air plumed from his lips as he traveled up the steps and leaned against the rail. He desperately wanted to close his eyes and mute his mind, and all the world around him for even just one minute. Of course, it didn't work that way, but at least it was quieter out here. For some reason, distant memories within him recalled what the night should sound like in the city. Yet, now it was peaceful. He knew that within a few hours, in certain parts of the city, there would be roars and gunfire.

The knob turned in the door and Mercer tilted his head and eyed the figure exiting. It was Eric Morris with Joanne Foster on his heels. She crossed her arms around her tightly as she stepped out, her auburn hair blowing slightly in a chill wind that passed. She hugged her coat close to her body and looked up at 'Mark', a sheepish smile fluttering across her lips. She seemed undeterred when he responded to her smile with a glare.

Eric rubbed his hands together, blowing into them gently before closing the door behind Foster. "Miss here knows Ragland and wanted to chat with him," he said as he ascended the steps. Alex's left eyebrow twitched, and he fought long and hard not to reach out and swipe both of their heads off in one fell swoop. Instead, he ground his molars and clenched his fists, directing a most deadly flare at his 'comrade'.

"Hey," Eric whispered as he reached ZEUS first, "this woman knows something. Don't kill her." He past him and started off down the street. Foster passed, possibly thinking Alex didn't catch her raising her eyes from his feet to his own as the virus watched Eric swagger down the walk. Perhaps Eric didn't realize just how little sense that made to Blacklight. If someone had information he wanted, he just cracked their heads open. It was that simple.

It became clear within an instant who Foster felt most comfortable by, and she glued herself to Eric's side while she studied Alex. The way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't aware unnerved him, and it took something special to unnerve him. Paranoia crawled up his spine and made his hackles rise, and somehow, he felt, she was on to him. When they were both busy in conversation about family and their home away from here, he withdrew his cell phone and texted Eric quickly.

_I won't let her leave the safe house alive, _he wrote, tucking the electronic into his jacket pocket. A few seconds later, Eric twitched as his phone vibrated in his pant pocket, and he grabbed it out and glanced at it. He did well to hide it from the woman beside him, and didn't make to glance at Alex. Thankfully, he wasn't so much an idiot as to text back. Otherwise it would have become very obvious.

* * *

Her head was swimming and groggy as she came to. She became immediately aware that she was both freezing and naked. She couldn't rightly move, and when she opened up her eyes and everything was extraordinarily blurry, she became aware that she was strapped to a cold slab. Panic didn't come to her fast enough. Her breathing sped up and her heart began to pound in her ears.

"Oh my God…" she whispered, her eyes wide and bulging, her jaw tight and yet parted as she drew in and exhaled air at a rapid pace. "What's… what's… where… where am I?" Her voice was hushed and whispered, fearful. There were no other occupants in the room that she was aware of. She still couldn't quite see, and tears were coming to her eyes. Out of the blurriness, she found that she couldn't make anything out at all.

"Someone there?" She whispered, craning her head around to one side and trying to see if she could get a better view of the room at all, regardless of how blurry it was. "God, is there anyone here?" Her ever rising panic was raising the volume of her voice, and when she began to tremble and shake it was not just from the cold. "Someone? Someone!" She yelled, the sound ricocheting back at her from the confining walls.

"Oh my God, is there ANYONE?" Still no one answered back to her, and she began to sob at her helpless predicament. They racked her body, which felt too cold to truly feel. Her wrists and ankles were trapped, and she felt a sudden intense need to flail and fight. Something terrible overcame her and she snarled and gasped and pulled and strained. Still, she couldn't shake loose of her ensnarement.

"Easy there Ms. Lipinski," a radio smothered voice said, and Marian fell slack against the slab for a breath. He'd been conversing with his peers and the radio had been off. It wasn't until she'd begun screaming that they heard the muffled cry and turned to observe her behavior. It was typical 'trapped animal' antics, he thought. She wasn't a very skinny woman in her late twenties. She wasn't hefty either though. There were trace amounts of fat about her middle and thighs typical of a mother approaching her thirties. Her blondish brown hair was short and flat ironed, and had become messy and tousled during her transit and stay so far. When they'd expected her to come to, they decided to lay her across the autopsy table.

"Where am I? What do you want?" She knew she wouldn't be let go for free. There was a reason she was here right? The more she thought about though, the more she felt as though she were in some absurd movie. This only happened in theatres, right? Attempting to avoid the act of crying, she took deep and steadying breaths. The table suddenly rotated, and she found herself facing a mirror. It angled 45 degrees upward, and she could see herself in her bare nudity. Self conscious at the sight, she wanted, desperately, to cover herself up. She was restrained, and the fact that she couldn't made the panic hard to avoid.

"I will not dodge the point. You are not infected, and so we've placed you in a sterile room for studying."

"What do you mean?" She asked, and there was a pause of incredulity from the other side of what she was sure was a one way viewing window.

"It means we want to know why certain parts of the population have managed to avoid infestation."

"What are you going to do to me?" She was unable to fight down the panic any longer. Her chest heaved with sharp intakes of air and sobs began to close her throat. "Please, I'll do anything. Please, just let me go," she begged, no longer able to maintain her composure. There was nothing but silence from the other side. The longer it remained so, the more she began to yell and scream and thrash.

"You bastards!" She could feel her throat beginning to burn. "You mother fucking bastards, let me go!" Sobs overtook her, and between them, she fought to insult them further. There was nothing else. There was nothing else left that she could do.

* * *

It was quite dark by the time they'd made it to the upper section of Ragland's study ward. There were living quarters, or rather, make shift living quarters that they'd managed to carve out for themselves up there. Eric halted the two of them and said something about giving Ragland a 'heads up' before he made haste up the stairs. Alex followed his path upward, and continued to study the empty staircase even as he heard a distinct knocking sound.

"So you know Ragland, right?" Foster, either digging or making attempts at conversation, looked up at Mercer with her open and beseeching eyes. Alex slowly looked down at her, studying her petite and skinny frame and wondering how a woman like her survived in this neck of the woods. She had little hoops dangling from her ears, and her auburn hair pillowed across her shoulders in wide ringlets. While he studied her, she fluttered her eyes for a moment and pursed her lips.

"Whether I do or don't isn't really important, is it?"

"Ooh, okay. So this is like that jedi mind trick, 'you do not want to sell me death sticks'," joked with a soft laugh. Alex couldn't fathom just what the hell she was talking about, and as he glared, he tilted his head.

"Come on up!" Eric said from the stair well as he hung over it, a smile crossing her face as he waved them toward the door. Alex didn't hesitate. He marched straight up the stairs and shoved past Eric on his way into the room. Eric scoffed but didn't appear to take it personally. When Mercer stepped into the threshold, Ragland tossed him a knowing look the moment he observed the livid virus. There was a deadly set to his face that Ragland had only ever before imaged, but not quite seen.

"Ms. Foster," he called gently, stepping forward and into a persona Alex had never seen before. He slipped into the background and observed as the doctor reached out to shake the frail woman's hand. Foster stood up a little straighter, and beamed as she returned the gesture. "So what brings you to my doorstep, huh?" He asked, leading her to the threadbare couch they'd stolen from an apartment.

"Well, actually. To be honest it's nothing I want to put in the news." Suddenly, something very serious fell over this woman like an invisible being had dropped a dark shroud over her. All the bubbly pleasantness washed away in a sudden swipe and her face fell into express and demanding seriousness.

"Well, when you called I was told you wanted to do a news spot on what I might know," Ragland reminded her.

"Yes, because I'm surrounded by people that can't know why I really want to talk to you."

"And why is that?" He asked, clasping his hands together in his lap and watching as Eric sidled toward the fridge for a beer. Alex, however, remained frozen in the shadows of the apartment, attempting to become one with the furniture.

"I don't think this was a terrorist attack," she whispered suddenly, wetting her lips. She wasn't used to giving information or discussing sensitive material with people she hardly knew. Her blue eyes were worried though, and so Ragland refrained from barking out a laugh. Of course he knew that such was not quite the case, but he didn't want to let her in on what he knew.

"What makes you say that? It's been released by the military." He knew better, but attempted to throw her off.

"Yes, but witnesses said that the helicopter that took off with the bomb, and they saw it, was U.S. military and so was the ship that carried it." She was speaking very quickly, like someone who was on to a conspiracy and afraid of being silenced before they got to what was important. "And when I've spoken to the actual foot soldiers in the field they keep telling me strange things about who they're chasing. I know there's something going on that people ought to know about."

"And why does this bring you to me, of all reasons?" Ragland was unerringly patient and quiet, his poise impeccable.

"You're the only doctor they've allowed to live, Ragland. Why is that?" She never wavered from her eye contact with him, and he made to speak, but then closed his lips with a sigh through his nose.

"Foster, I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree. I've been hiding."

"And yet reports, that I wasn't meant to see mind you, show they've been sending you bodies to study in your morgue."

"You know more than is safe for you to know, miss," Ragland warned, and Alex shifted in the dark not out of discomfort, but out of the want to rip Foster's pretty little head open and find out what she knew. When she opened her mouth to reply, Ragland held up a quieting hand. "Look, all I'm saying is that you need to be careful. You're asking me to share information with you that could jeopardize everything I'm doing. I can't do that."

"So then it's true. You are with them." She stated, shaking her head.

"I'm not sure what you mean by _them_, Foster," Ragland's voice held a warning lilt to it.

"I mean whatever secret organization manufactured this entire situation with Manhattan. Ragland, they're toying with people's _lives!_" Foster looked ready to stand and begin shouting, but she maintained an edge of control that kept her in her seat.

"I won't deny what you know, Foster, but I'm most certainly not with anyone. I'm merely attempting to understand what's been unleashed and how to fix it. Pointing a finger, right now, won't save anyone." As Ragland spoke, Foster's head shook from side to side in disbelief, and Alex was sure he could see her blue eyes tearing up just ever so slightly. It was more obvious when she drew in a deep breath and sniffled as she did so, and then she nodded once.

"I know… I just. I don't know anything else I can do but seek out what can be known and do everything I can to ensure it doesn't get covered up." She dragged a finger below her eyes for a moment, keeping her mascara from running. In the dark, leaning against the wall, Alex's eyes slit into a speculative glare. Ragland sighed and cast his gaze down to his folded hands.

"Foster, I'm afraid that I can't let you leave here," he said softly, and looked back up at her. She tilted her head, unsure if he was being entirely serious.

"Why not?"

"You can blame your new friend over there," Alex growled, nodding toward Eric. Replacing his hood, he slowly angled toward the balcony sliding door. "You know where we are, you already know too much. Consider yourself lucky Ragland's a wimp." His voice was barely distinguishable underneath the growling tones as he made toward the door and stepped out, shutting it behind him. Ragland didn't comment on the insult, and didn't even appear offended.

"I'm sorry. I really wish that one of them had called me before they brought you here." He shook his head, and behind him in their make shift kitchen, Eric tossed back his drink and attempted to appear nonchalant.

"Well…," she started, her jaw dropping and glancing between Eric, the sliding glass door, and Ragland with disbelief falling past her lips with two indignant gasps. "What am I supposed to do then?" Now she was frustrated, tossing her arms and directing a glare at Ragland.

"You can hack, can't you?" Suddenly the sliding glass door was open, and Mercer was peeking his head in, his expression blank.

"What makes you say that?" Her voice was carefully monotone.

"You found reports that aren't in paper form," he said simply.

"Yes, I can hack. I hacked Gentek, happy?"

"Very," Blacklight drawled with a wicked grin as he stepped halfway into the space. "Ragland, get her to look up that information we needed." Ragland shifted his watchful gaze from the virus back to Foster, who looked at him just then with wide eyes.

"You'll have to take her somewhere else, Alex," Eric said.

"What?" Foster yelled from her seat, and all three men turned to look at her. "What! Wait… WHAT?"

"What?" Ragland asked, and for a moment all was silent until Eric muttered 'whoops'.

"But you're dead," she spat out, and Mercer stared at her.

"Here I thought you were already on to me," he smirked, before swallowing and attempting to get back to what he wanted.

"No… Oh lord, I thought you were on their… God, Ragland what the hell are you doing?" She stood, shaking her hands and brushing her hair nervously behind her ears as she stared down at Ragland.

"Yeah, get the fuck over it. I'm taking you to a different location and you're going to find information on Blacklight." Alex snarled.

"No, I'm not going anywhere with you," she pointed an accusing finger at Alex, and he blanched at it.

"Foster!" Ragland stood. "I told you we're attempting to find a solution! Now you're either a part of that solution, or you're history. There's not a lot I can do if he wants to end your life." He turned toward Alex and shot him a glare.

"Watch yourself," he shot at Mercer, and the virus tilted his head in slight confusion.

"I don't understand," she raised her hands to her face to brace herself for a moment. "I just, let me understand, okay?" Everything about her was far more genuine now than it had been. Having one's life threatened tended to have that effect.

"Why do you want information on… Blacklight?" She asked, and when Alex's face screwed into an angry scowl she raised a hand in a halting gesture. "Please, that's all I want to know."

Ragland spoke up. "We want to know what the original intentions of creating the disease were. We know that Redlight and its variations are largely useless and inaccessible, but we might have a way to use Blacklight."

When Foster tilted her head, Ragland shook his and waved her into silence. "Foster, it's best if you just follow Alex." She looked as though there were a million more questions she wanted to ask, but when her blue eyes flittered toward Alex and his deadly expression, she remembered that she'd only ask just that one. So she dropped a shaky sigh from her lips and clutched her arms about herself protectively.

"Alright," she whispered, dropping her eyes to the ground.


	5. Foolish Games

Suspended in a pool of foggy, half hearted awareness, Marian Lipinski groaned and tried to rub her temples to soothe a pounding head ache. Her hands were trapped against a hard, smooth surface, and quite suddenly, recognition of her situation washed upon her like an enormous wave crashing violently against a battered cliff side. Her eyes snapped open, taking in the brightly lit ceiling. Her chest heaved as she struggled to breath. Sweat trickled down her spine and pooled between her shoulder blades as she felt her pulse quicken with panic. Marian jumped as the static crackled through a radio speaker, accompanied by that voice she could only describe as sterile.

"Ms. Lipinski. We have your file here. It says you have two children." The rhythm of her breathing stammered only long enough to process what the voice had stated before the pounding fear returned and magnified.

"No…" she gasped, quite breathless. "No, they're gone."

"What do you mean by 'gone'?"

"They're dead," she said, tears rising to her eyes. She felt as though they might as well be, and hoped that her fearful tears would be enough to convince them.

"I don't believe that's correct. See, your apartment showed signs of their having recently been there. Unless they died just yesterday…" Marian attempted to make work of what they were trying to get out in her clouded mind. They weren't there any longer? Had they left? She didn't understand; didn't know quite what to make of it and whether she should be relieved or not.

And then she remembered.

Marian closed her eyes tightly, attempting to calm herself so that she could think more clearly. Swallowing hard and opening her eyes to gaze down her nose at what she was sure to be a one way mirror, she saw herself still strapped, nude, to an examination table. The rising panic returned, and something else indescribably full of loathing curled in her gut like a furious snake.

"I'll cooperate," she whispered.

"Good."

* * *

"Jon…" Lily whispered, shaking her little brother awake. "Jon, mom's not back yet." The young boy rubbed at his eyes groggily, pushing himself upright and leaning into the back of the living room couch. His sister was clutching the telephone close in her lap, staring at her brother with a harried expression.

"Wha-?"

"I said mom's not back yet!" She yelled, and then quickly clamped her lips together tightly as though she were afraid someone might have heard her and found their location. Her eyes were wide and horrified.

"Oh… should we call him?" Jon asked, speaking as though he were meandering through a dream. A sudden sneeze overtook him and it was a matter of instinct that he tossed his elbow into his face to block it. Brushing some wild hair out of his eyes, he slid off of the couch and shuffled to the kitchen, pulling at the oversized sleeves of his sweater that kept slipping over his hands. Lily could hear her little brother pull the fridge open, and frowned at his utter lack of concern. With her lips set in a firm and determined line, she picked up the phone and quickly dialed the number she'd been focusing on memorizing every day since her mother had told it to her. The phone rang three times before it picked up.

"Hello?" A deep voice asked. Even through the crackling, poor connection, the voice sounded slightly perplexed.

"Dr. Ra-"

"Who is this?" The voice was curt and sharp, cutting through her words and effectively silencing her.

"It's.. uh.. it's… Lil-" She tried, and was again interrupted.

"Did something happen?" Recognition seeped into the voice, and a bit of kindness washed over it.

"Yes, I-"

"I'll send someone over." The line cut and Lily had the distinct impression that he'd not wanted her to really speak at all if it were possible.

She was young, but she was a bright and inquisitive child. She knew that lines could be watched and tapped, that internet usage could be followed, and that any amount of appearance and communication could be recorded. Feeling sick to her stomach, she set the phone down and remained frozen and rooted to the spot where she sat beside the covered window.

"Jon… we should probably pack some of our things," she called toward the kitchen, and heard something fall in response. Rolling her eyes, she got up and peered through the doorway at him. Her brother looked up from where he stood over a fallen carton of milk, his face an expression of guilt.

"Come on, we need to get ready to go," she sighed, tossing her hands out to the sides. As though he were relieved just to escape being berated, he carefully stepped over the spilled milk and followed after his sister.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"I don't know," she snapped back at him. Her tone didn't appear to bother him. His expression remained as serene and innocent as ever while he watched her pack. A small tin box nudged its way toward her, and she turned to see him offering up the one thing he was interested in packing.

"No, we're not bringing that. It's useless," she dismissed him, pushing the plain little box away. He frowned slightly, clinging to the tin and not offering to assist in packing anything else. It didn't seem to matter, though, because she was already tossing some of his clothes into a backpack for him. When she had finished stowing away their tooth brushes and zipped up their packs, she turned to find him standing in the middle of the room, his expression resolute as he clutched the tin in both hands.

"Jon… please don't make this difficult," she sighed, her shoulders slumping as defeat crawled its way into her. When he stared at her long and hard, and did not respond, she finally relented. "Alright. Whatever. Bring it." She rolled her eyes and picked up their backpacks in one flippant motion.

"I don't get what's so special about that stupid tin box anyway," she muttered.

"Dad gave it to me," he mumbled as he followed her out of their bedroom.

"It's just an empty, rusty box, Jon."

"But it was dad's," he said, as though this fact alone should make all the sense in the world.

"Why don't you put anything in it, at least?" She asked, her voice a little softer as she sat on the couch, waiting for whatever it was they were supposed to be waiting for. She hoped that it wouldn't take long. Her nerves were dangerously frayed and on edge.

"I 'unno," he uttered with a shrug, climbing onto the couch to settle in next to her. He dropped his head against her shoulder, sighing softly as he stared across the room. "Haven't found anything worth putting in it, I guess," he whispered. She didn't respond as she tried to understand. What about knickknacks and little photos? What about his little toy soldiers he left everywhere that had no place? What about souvenirs? There were tons of little things he could put in that rusty little tin box.

Scrunching her eyes shut, she willed herself not to fret over something so trivial.

* * *

Foster had never felt so cold in her entire life, and she finally gave in to resisting the only heat source nearby. She stood as close as she could to the supposed terrorist, looking up at the building he'd paused to scan. They were on a wharf, looking out at a turbulent sea. The wind had picked up just slightly, but it carried a mean chill that sought out one's bones. Her teeth clattering unexpectedly, she tightened her arms across her chest, hunching as she fought to keep in what little heat she could.

"Y-you know, r-r-real men offer their j-jackets up," she spat, glaring at the stark warehouse building that rose up in all its solitary and silent glory. There was something grossly eerie about it, beside the residue of infection that lingered all around the haunted place. Mercer glanced down at her, one brow quirked in a sort of bemused expression that seemed odd on him. Frown lines had become so deeply etched there that she was sure any other expression would have found the environment far too hostile to reside there for even a moment.

"Come on," he said gruffly, seeming to huff down what would have been a curt laugh at her expense as he strode toward the building. Grudgingly, she followed, her head bowed against the defeat she felt stealing away her resolve.

The door of the warehouse opened with an unhappy creak, but Alex didn't seem intent on showing it any mercy. He swung it open, stepped through, allowed Foster onto the threshold, before slamming it shut behind them. Her eyes couldn't quite adjust to the darkness, and her heart nearly stopped when she walked straight into his back. She tumbled past his side when he angled toward her, perhaps out of his own surprise, and she felt the floor rise up to greet her. She fell down hard, an 'oof!' shoving its way out of her lungs. A dark, low chuckle could be heard crossing the room before a shock of light burned her eyes.

The floor was cold. Very cold.

"I d-don't know if m-maybe you c-can't fathom this concept or w-w-what, but p-people tend to g-get sick when th-they're f-f-freezing to death." Foster couldn't bite down the chattering any longer, and her shivering was becoming violent. She felt stiff and sore as she slowly got up, watching him as he started up a flight of open, metal stairs that led up to an overhang. Shivering violently, she willed herself to follow. She had to remind herself of why she was afraid of this man. She had to remember the tapes she'd seen. The aftermath of destruction and the stories soldiers had told her. He'd yet to display any such violence, and she was quite certain that she didn't want to see it. Still, what she wouldn't give for the opportunity to throttle him.

"There's probably some extra uniforms around here somewhere," he muttered, and she stood behind him, shuddering against the cold and sure that he was thinking aloud until he turned to face her. She looked up at him, confused. He repeated himself, and her eyes darted about the second story room they'd entered. There were boxes everywhere, and none of them were labeled, that she could see.

With a heavy sigh, she unfurled her thin arms and made to move through some of the stacks. He seemed to have decided that she'd gotten her wits about her by herself, and pulled a box down from a stack. He deftly ripped it open, and found hazard suits inside. Four box mutilations later and he found large factory jackets. He looked up at her to see her slipping into a second military jacket. She'd already put one on and buttoned it up, but that didn't seem to be enough. She sniffed the shoulder of the jacket, patted it, and watched as little bits of dust billowed up. Foster's face screwed up for a moment, and Alex balanced on his heels. A resounding sneeze echoed throughout the warehouse, and Mercer felt himself jump.

"You're loud," he spat through gritted teeth, annoyed that he'd startled at something as silly as a sneeze. He'd been watching her in such earnest to find out just why her face had scrunched up so suddenly. He hadn't been expecting an explosion. She didn't respond to him, rather, she merely muttered something about the distasteful musty smell of the coverings, but that she was glad that she wouldn't be freezing. Deciding they'd found all they needed, he headed for the door and she could hear the rattling of his steps as they disappeared down the left side of the hall. She followed slowly, grabbing a military issued blanket as she went.

A door swung shut, and she followed his trail through that door to find herself entering a small office. It had a few computers around the place, and some of the room appeared as though whoever last occupied it had either been a very messy person, or had left it in a hurry. He pointed toward the computer on the desk before settling himself in an armchair nestled in the corner that angled just behind and to the right of the desk. Hesitantly, she shuffled toward the desk, settling herself into the chair and fluffing the blanket over her legs. She pressed the power button on the computer tower, and waited for the machine to power up.

"Didn't you work on Blacklight?" She asked, staring at the boot screen. A moment of thick silence emanated from the corner, and she didn't dare glance back at him. If anyone could respond with a pointed, loaded silence, it was Mercer.

"Alex Mercer did," a whisper of an answer fluttered into being, and she sat a little straighter when she heard it. It was a rather phenomenal turn in how he responded to her. Still, she didn't look back at him, as though afraid that such an action might break some kind of spell their lack of studious glances provided.

"So… you're not the real Alex Mercer," she stated.

"No." For some reason, she detected a bit of wry humor in his voice, as though he were smirking. The picture was far too impossible for her mind to conjure, and she desperately wanted to check behind her.

"Then…" she began, fishing.

"Then, it would perhaps be wise of you to get to work." He finished for her, even though it wasn't even slightly close to what she'd wanted to say. "Quickly, and efficiently." He added, and since the spell was quite broken, she looked back at him. She tried to keep her face guarded and blank as he mirrored the lack of expression right back at her.

"And if I don't," she sniffed the air derisively, spinning her chair around to face him. His rather short moment of neutrality had fed her confidence, and she was feeling mutinous. He was capable of civility; he'd just shown it. She couldn't control what could be actions boasting dire consequences.

"I'll kill you," he said simply, as though commenting on the weather.

"Then how will you get your information?"

"You're kind of a surprise. Don't think we didn't have other plans. You merely made yourself convenient."

"If I find your information, I want answers."

"I'm sure you'll find them with us," he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut as he practiced patience. "Besides, you're not really in a bargaining position."

"So you don't know anything, then? Is that what you're saying?" Her tone was now as mutinous as she felt. However, the feeling quickly fled her when she found the back of her chair meeting with the floor. Her eyes bulged as a clamp closed her throat and air became impossible to claim. One last gasp had resounded sharply in the room before all she could manage was a week garble. She stared up into bared teeth and crystal blue, furious eyes narrowed down at her where she was pinned beneath one violent hand. Her own frail hands clung to his jackets, grasping feebly at him as though to plead for release from his tyranny. They shook violently, but not from the cold.

"I am saying," he growled, "That you will find the information we want, or I will kill you. This is not difficult to understand." His eyes hooded as he lifted his chin, staring down at her as her eyes rolled upward. He released her, and her head fell. She gasped through a raspy throat as he forced her to the floor with a thud.

She clutched feebly at his jacket still, but she could feel her hands shaking furiously. He looked down at them, before reaching to disentangle them. A wretched choking noise halted his procession, though, and he looked back at her to see her whole being beginning to shake and convulse. He bent over her again to see tears billowing out from her wide eyes, her mouth twisted open and gaping like a fish. Gently, as though handling a brittle material, he worked at her fingers again. They wouldn't come undone, and he was sure he'd have to break them. He needed them though. He needed them to be working at a keyboard, not tangled in the front of his leather jacket.

"Foster," he grunted, but she didn't seem to have heard him. "Foster," he repeated a little louder, "Let go of my damn jacket." Still, she shook, and a croaking sound fell from her lips in an increasing rhythm. Sighing, Blacklight inspected the human in cold, brutal assessment, unsure what to do with the female who'd declined into a violent state of shock. Was she messing with him? He screwed his eyes shut again, making thoughtful attempts at a solution.

What if this was Dana?

He immediately decided, upon arrival of that thought, that he'd have never put her here. But if she was, he knew what he'd want to do. He wasn't sure how, or why he knew this, but it was the instinct and the plethora of others' memories that inspired his actions now. He reached for her face with both hands, cradling her head between them and forcing her frantically darting eyes to focus on his face. He spoke her name, a softness in his tone, until he saw the dilation of her pupils recede. Her breaths began to deepen and lengthen, and the sobbing subsided into hiccups before she finally closed her eyes for a moment. When she re-opened them, she appeared on the brink of returning to tears. He slowly dragged the chair upright, stepping up from where he'd straddled her.

"I'm-I'm-I'm s-sorry," she gasped, dragging the palms of her hands across her make-up smeared eyes, seemingly unaware of the mascara and eye liner. Mercer wasn't sure what to do with her to do with her 'sorry', or why she was even professing it in the first place, so he awkwardly angled back toward his chair and meandered to it.

"Just find what we need," he mumbled, slouching into the chair and watching her as she made many failed attempts to refocus. When she finally set to work, and seemed to forget he was there, he relaxed and closed his eyes. Inward was an audience, all blissfully unaware of anything he thought or did as they wrapped themselves continually around their own recorded life over and over and over.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading. I'm in a perpetual state of apology for the long awaited updates. This story WILL continue. If it was to be ended early then I would say so, and not leave you all hanging. So please, don't worry about that. I just recently reformatted my computer due to, ironically, a virus. So, I'm slowly getting things in order and now Norton, which my computer was originally packaged with and so was installed back on, decided to act more like a virus than an anti-virus. So! Technology against me and all, I'm prevailing. I thank you all IMMENSELY for reading my story. I would also like to extend a special thanks to Herrlichkeit and Aronim for their intense support, their thorough readings, and the editing they've offered me. Please review!


	6. No Mercy

A/N: I hope that you all enjoy this "faster update than normal" chapter, because I had to type it twice.

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Joanne Foster was in trouble and she knew it. Huddled under several musty, dusty old military jackets, she sat before a computer in the top floor of an abandoned warehouse by a sea that was only just beginning to calm. The windows behind her captor were just beginning to glow with the telltale signs of a rising sun. The slats in the blinds angled the light in just a way that dust particles glimmered in the air. Even though Alex Mercer had given her all night to find what he wanted, even by the late hours of the morning she'd been unable to deliver.

What she'd found had been fascinating enough, but none of it had been answered any of the questions that Ragland posed. There was plenty of information available on Redlight, but Blacklight-DX1118 leads were taking her only to dead ends. It was actually quite suspicious, being that it appeared information had been there at one point. It was becoming a tedious time waste, she surmised. Rubbing her eyes, she turned slowly in her chair to eye the only other occupant in the room.

Blacklight was lazily skewed over the chair as though he'd flopped that way into the cushion and long ago sunken into a deep slumber. His face was peaceful, the muscles relaxed. His chest rose and fell in small, rhythmic breaths. She was so sure that he was asleep that she rolled the chair closer for inspection. By nature she was an overly curious sort. After all, she _was _a journalist.

She looked at him more closely now, and noted the pallor of his skin and the dark circles under his eyes that curled deeply to form a canyon between his cheeks and his eyes. Maybe he was dying, she wondered. He certainly appeared to be. He _could _be infected with what was going around, she thought, curling back a little with repulsion. Although, when he held her down just hours ago, there'd been an uncanny strength in him. Could a seriously ill, dying person do that? She wasn't sure, and tilted forward in her seat to get a closer look again.

They always did say that curiosity would be the death of her.

She'd blanked out for a moment, perhaps from the exhaustion. She wasn't sure how long he sat there staring right back at her. When she refocused she became acutely aware that she was hovering over her murderous captor like a scientist ogling through a microscope. It was a wonder that he simply sat there and returned the passive stare. Her hackles rose, conscious of one of her knees touching his only because now he seemed very much awake.

"Good morning," she croaked, swallowing. His eyebrows didn't furrow into that perpetual scowl, and for this, she figured herself lucky. Yet, the smoothness of his expression did nothing to sap the eerie feeling his stare produced within her, and she found herself slowly rolling her chair away without making it obvious.

"I… was unable to… to find what you needed," she whispered, unable to remove her eyes from his for fear she'd miss a telltale twitch that might give her warning to her unfurling demise.

"So you really were a waste of time?" He grumbled. His voice was hoarser than usual, but strangely, didn't hold any malice in it. He slowly righted himself in the chair, slouching right into the back of it and letting his hands drop lazily into his lap.

"No!" She spat. "Maybe there just isn't anything to know. Maybe Blacklight's just a stupid biological weapon. Maybe that's all it was. Just some… stupid… petty idea cooked up in a fucking lab." She stopped when Mercer's eyebrows had risen up into his hood. Something grumbled from within his chest, and she felt goose bumps prickle along her arms thinking it was a growl. It occurred to her a little late that he'd just chuckled. As soon as she'd realized it, the air about him had already become densely serious. He leaned forward then, propping his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.

"There weren't any files that specifically detailed the process of finding or creating Blacklight?" He asked, his skill at maintaining eye contact steadily unnerving her.

"No," she sulked. "If there had been, don't you think I would have, oh, I don't know, said something? I already told you-" Mercer stood and snatched her jaw in one fluid, painful motion. He pinched her face in his hand. The tendons in her neck tensed against him and she felt her jaw lock awkwardly.

"You're a little low on the food chain to be mouthing off at me, Foster." He threw her back into the chair so hard the furniture flipped over backwards, spilling its contents onto the floor in a tumble of limbs and hair. It happened so fast that she'd not even been able to yelp. Her head was the first thing to crack against the tiled floor. Stars spun under her tightly closed lids, and a headache sprang up immediately at her temples. She stood up slowly, eyeing him as he crossed to the door. It'd hurt, and tears of pain had sprung to her eyes.

She was carefully setting the chair upright when a huge explosion rocked the building. The boom had sounded below, shaking the structure at its core. Bits of dry wall dribbled from the ceiling and dusted everything within the room. Foster's already unsteady legs had been shaken out from under her, and she'd crumpled to the ground in her disorientated state. Mercer's clammy, warm hands grabbed her and an arm snaked around her waist and hastily pulled her up. Another explosion tore into the structure, and Foster could only think how odd it was that the man was completely unshaken and in perfect balance with the building crumbling all around them.

"What's going on?" She choked out.

"This is why Eric suggested we take your pathetic hacking skills elsewhere," Alex whispered, and a chill crawled up her spine when she realized she was trapped against him. He reeked of rotted flesh and felt sickly warm, like someone fighting a fever. Panic ran through her at the thought of catching whatever he had, be it what was going around or possibly something else. She angled her shoulder into his chest and pulled away, but he hissed something at her and edged toward the window. Both of them peeked through the blinds to see a tank and several men propping bazookas on their shoulders down below.

"Shit," Foster gasped. Mercer was comfortably silent, analyzing the situation. It took her a moment to shove the panic elsewhere and notice this when a third explosion pounded the structure. Something within the building whined in protest, and before she could comprehend what was happening, the whole building began to slowly topple toward the street. It was a slow tilt at first, warning them of the fall to come. "Alex! Alex!" Foster clawed at his chest, no longer worried about how he stank like rotted bodies and felt of clammy fever. She no longer cared that she might catch his sick. The floor went out from under her and she clung to the only stable thing left in the room. Joanne shut her eyes tightly and felt the blood rush from her fingers as they lost feeling while locked in the folds of Mercer's clothing.

She felt weightless as he seemed to spring into flight. She refused to watch, keeping her eyes tightly closed. There was a crash and she was sure they'd broken through a wall. How that was even possible, she didn't want to know. She felt him come into contact with a solid surface again, only to spring off once more. Her heart was going to burst out of her chest at the mere conclusions she was drawing in light of what she felt happening.

At last he landed, and remained so.

"You can let go now," he mumbled, and she felt the words in his chest more than she heard them with her ears. Her eyes opened slowly and from where she was buried against the leather jacket she could see sky and rooftops. Before she could entirely bring herself to unlock her hold on him, he shoved her to the rooftop. She tumbled back hard onto her rear and let out a howl of pain.

"Why are you such an ass?" She cried, rubbing her elbows and slowly sitting upright. She glared up at him through the haze of moisture in her eyes. He returned the glare with far more menacing effect.

"Why are you so pathetic?"

"I'm only human!" Her voice echoed out over the rooftops. He twitched noticeably, opened his mouth to retort, and then clamped it firmly shut. Unbridled fury crossed his face in a wild blaze before her bent forward with inhuman speed and snatched her up by the front of the dusty jackets. His face was inches from hers and she could smell the stank of his foul breath washing over her face. She gagged and turned her face aside, but he didn't seem to notice this. He seethed at her, his nose touching hers.

"Stop," she croaked, when he didn't say anything. She could feel him tremble through the hand that was buried in the front of her clothing. The whole of him shook with burning anger, and he radiated an anger that she didn't understand. "You're overreacting," she reasoned.

"Overreacting?" He bellowed into her face, and he shook her hard with one mighty lurch before tossing her straight down onto her knees. She could feel the cement tear into the exposed skin, and she gritted her teeth. "How the _fuck _did you intend to survive something like this if that's your excuse?" He formed a fist and struck downward to emphasize his point. She gaped up at him, unable to understand where this pent up rage was bubbling up from.

"It wasn't a thought," she answered, scrunching her expression as she studied him. He was coming undone, like a frayed blanket unraveling quickly because a child had tugged too hard on a loose end. "What's your problem?" She whispered.

"What's my problem," he repeated, flippantly dodging her gaze and looking off into the distance, a sardonic laugh barking into the end of his sentence. "My problem is that you, and people like you, are not worth saving. You're alive, and the people that _are _worth saving aren't. That's my problem. Explain to me why I should want to preserve a specie that's so pathetic."

"Because everyone deserves a chance."

"Is that right? Everyone? Even those who _aren't _human?" He tilted his head to the side, staring down at her challengingly.

"What are you getting at?" She mimicked his stare and the tilt of his head, her eyes squinting up at him as she studied his threatening posture. She watched his jaw clench, that glint rise into his eyes, and prepared for another thrashing. Instead, he growled and spun away.

She got up to follow, if only because she knew she'd not be able to outrun him. He took them down the fire escape. Rounding a corner, she recognized the front of Ragland's laboratory. The door slammed shut in front of her, but she'd become accustomed to his lack of manners enough not to be surprised. Slowly opening the door, she entered the threshold only to bump into the back of Mercer. He swiftly spun and shoved her by her shoulder to the floor. She issued a loud yelp and one fierce obscenity, looking up just in time to see him cast her a dignified glare before walking away.

* * *

Lily Lapinski had been staring avidly at the clock for some time now. She wouldn't have been able to tell the time, though, for all the other things occupying her mind at the moment. Their backpacks sat to her right and her little brother was curled up beside her on her left. Nesting in her mind were a million worries of varying kinds. Even though she was young, she'd quickly picked up her mother's habits of tending to every detail she could muster up the ability to notice. Still, she knew herself to be inexperienced and fretted over anything she might have missed. Pulling and plucking at her fingernails, she twitched at the slightest disturbance of the silence. The ticking of vermin clambering through the walls, the occasional clank of a water pipe and anything she'd long since become used to all became foreboding signs of danger.

For a long time they'd been sure that the Lapinskis were the only ones left in the apartment complex. She had always wanted to believe that was true until now, when various sounds intermittently presented themselves to make her jump. However, it wasn't until just now, when a loud and hard to miss scraping sound resounded through the apartment, that she'd allowed herself to take any of them seriously. She spun around, waking her brother up in the process. Something dropped from the ceiling and clanked onto the tile. Glancing upward, she saw a man staring down at her from the exposed air conditioning vent.

"Jon!" She squeaked, eyes wide like saucers. Her brother mumbled incoherently as he rubbed his eyes and followed her line of sight.

"G'mornin'," he mumbled, half grinning at the stranger peeking into their living room through the air conditioning vent. His sister turned to stare at him as though she'd never seen him in her life, before looking up at the stranger. Outside, she heard tires squeal against the broken pavement outside the complex, then the soft click as the rumbling engine cut. Lily's heart began to pound as she watched the kind-faced stranger raise an index finger to his lips, signaling her to keep quiet. He motioned her to come under the vent as he began to lower a rope.

The question of whether or not she could trust this stranger with her and her brother's lives ran full circle in her mind several times before a door slammed downstairs and feet began pounding up the flights of stairs. Hastily, she grasped the rope and shoved her brother onto it. It was her instinct to get him to safety first, and right now, the stranger seemed to be safer than confronting whatever herd of strangers were stamping up the steps to their door. Jon placed his toe into the noose on the end and grasped the rope firmly in his hands. The man in the vent pulled up quickly, hoisting her brother into the hole and squeezing him past and out of sight. Lily swallowed hard as the rope was dropped to her. She grasped it quickly and felt him tug her up. 'Pull faster,' she whispered in her mind, begging to be hidden when the door burst open and men spilled in. She had just squeezed into the vent, and she lay trapped beside the stranger in an awkward fashion. He'd frozen, willing everything to remain silent as the men searched their apartment. She was staring at what would be the man's shins, clothed in a thick black material. His boots were smooth, and she was sure that he was a soldier of some kind. Only soldiers wore boots like these after all.

"They're in here somewhere, boys!" An authoritative voice hollered. "Find them!"

Lily shook with ever sharp syllable the man bellowed. Why were they looking for them? Where was mom? Did they have her? The questions crawled below her skin like a sinister parasite teasing her with their elusiveness. She was shaken to the present calamity when someone commented on the spilled milk in the kitchen and some other men yelled from their room about the mess they'd left.

"Looks like they left in a hurry, sir."

"No one's left anywhere, Fenelli. The cameras didn't pick up anyone leaving." She was terrified of that voice. It was sharp and gravelly, snapping attention to him by sheer force of will and power.

There was a loud clank behind her, and she peered up over the edge where the vent became horizontal to see that her brother had face planted and his box had come down with him in his right hand. She tried to glance down as the stranger tensed beside her, but he was in her way. The soldiers must have looked at the hole in the ceiling, because the stranger pushed her up and she made as many awkward attempts to clamber to safety. There was yelling down below and guns fired, but she couldn't bring herself to take recognition of any of it. She ushered her brother forward, and when he didn't move, she shoved past him and began leading the way. She knew he followed by the rhythmic clanking sounding behind her as the vent curved upward.

The sound of something larger shuffling farther behind them came to her ears, and she glanced back to see the stranger following her brother. His face was bleeding and the sight of the blood made her stomach flop around like a flailing fish. She continued up the vent, moving faster now. Her arms and feet pushed against the sides as the angle became steeper. Her muscles burned with the effort of pulling herself up. Her heart pounding and her lungs ready to burst, she was sure she was going to lose her hold and tumble down on top of the two below her.

"Grab the rope," the stranger yelled, and that's when she noticed the black cord trailing down the vent. She grasped it quickly and accidentally kicked someone in the head.

"Sorry!" She gasped, and heard her brother mumble something. As soon as she'd grabbed the rope a force began tugging her upward. She swallowed hard, her throat dry. Her head was beginning to pound along with the rapid beating of her heart. Light came into view, and at the end of it, was a tall, broad shouldered man with a scarred face pulling the chord through the opening with powerful arms.

She stared, wide eyed, at him even after he grasped her by the shoulder and pulled her out of the vent as though she were a cat he was picking up by the scruff. He did the same with her brother, who offered him a similar expression as hers, before offering his hand to the kind, bloody-faced, stranger. The stranger, Lily thought odd, laughed as he was pulled onto the roof. He swayed a bit on his feet before pressing his hand to his ear. The scarred man didn't return the jovial expression. He turned, pointed his index finger toward the sky, and spun a circle. This seemed to put everything into a flurry of motion as men in grey uniforms sprang up from the edges of the roof and started toward a large helicopter perched several hundred feet away. The vessel's blades had been rotating lazily, but now they sped in earnest. They'd been prepped for immediate flight.

Lily and Jon stood rooted to the spot; Lily for fear and Jon out of confusion. The stranger was heading toward the helicopter before slowing to glance back at them. He waved them on, and Lily willed herself to follow. Clasping her brother's hand in hers, she took off toward the helicopter. The stranger settled her in between himself and the scarred man who had two fingers to an ear piece and was speaking into it.

"Acquired targets. Proceeding to safe house." He let go of the earpiece and gazed out the window for a few moments as they took off. Gunfire erupted from the vessel in response to the loud dinging sound that ricocheted off of it. The stranger handed her and her brother large ear muffs that she put on immediately. It effectively quieted the deafening sounds of the warfare and the spinning blades that lifted them quickly into the air. She clutched her brother tightly, who sat there beaming at the revelation of being on a helicopter. She felt a bit of loathing for him and how little he worried, but refused to address the feeling. Instead, she clung to what little safety they had for the moment and hoped that she'd placed her trust in the right people.

"I hope this isn't a mistake," she whispered to herself, wondering where in the world their mother was. Her mumblings went unnoticed beneath the sound of chopping blades and rolling engines.

"Take us on a roundabout," came the scratchy voice of the scarred man over the speakers, and she glanced up at him. He must have been communicating with the pilot, who banked the helicopter so hard to the right that she slid across her seat, bumping into the broad shouldered man. Across his shoulders she could look out the window as see the city far down below. An intense feeling of ill overcame her, and before she could hold it, she vomited. The man beside her didn't jump away in horror, rather, stared down as the vomit rolled across his covered forearm, gloves, across his lap, and dribbled down the other side of the seat. Slowly, he looked at her, and she felt as though under an x-ray of some kind. She couldn't help herself then, and tears sprang to her eyes.

"Sorry," she sobbed, hiccupping. He shook his head, eyes softening somewhat.

"Don't worry about it," she heard over the speakers. She watched him settle into the back of the seats and stare out the windows once more as the helicopter righted and flew straight.

"What's your name?" She heard her brother ask through the speakers. He seemed a little too pleased with the whole concept of talking into a real headset instead of an imaginary one. She followed his line of sight to see him looking up at the bloody faced stranger that had pulled them out of the apartment.

"Morris. Eric Morris," he said. "Try not to talk till we get to where we're going." Her little brother nodded, smiling as he settled into the seat and laid his head on her shoulder. He was prepping to sleep. She wished she could get her nerves to calm long enough to allow such solace. Instead, she sat and fidgeted, worry coursing through her with each rapid, adrenaline filled heartbeat until they finally touched down.


	7. All too Soon

A/N: Long story short, it's been a dreadful year. Alas, I've had hours cut, and so I took some time to review my stories and update them. My other story has a relatively stream-lined and simple plot, and was easy enough to catch up on. This one… not so much. Alas… I give to you… a much overdo update. Thank you so much to those that have stayed with me, and even more so to those that have provided motivation along the way! Chapters may become shorter, but updates more frequent.

* * *

Eric Morris clattered up the stairs to the make shift living quarters of Ragland's hide away, with the kids following closely behind him. Cross had dropped him here with strict orders to remain with them. Babysitting, how lovely. Although these kids didn't seem particularly difficult. They'd been quiet, perhaps mostly out of shock; the girl more so than the boy. He knocked on the door before he opened it, ushering the two inside before he closed the door.

Lily was apprehensive, walking in slowly and attempting to take in the room all in one glance. Jon was the opposite, peering at each face slowly, almost lazily, before setting himself at the couch without any need of an invitation. He sat there in his ratty sneakers and street clothes, opening and closing the tin box that was the only thing of real importance to him.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Eric said, staring at Jon in amusement as he went to the make shift kitchenette. There were a few provisions enough to make themselves some peanut butter sandwiches. He cut them into halves, just enough to stave off the worst of each person's hunger.

"The one you called, kids. Dr. Ragland," Eric gestured. "This is Lily and Jon." He pointed them out to Ragland, who looked at them only briefly before continuing with his work at one of the tables set aside for such.

"Where's ZE-Alex?" Eric asked, his voice low and muffled with sandwich. Ragland was about to reply, when the door crashed open. It was a wonder they didn't see it fly across the room off its hinges. It closed significantly more gently than it'd opened. Alex came into view, walking away from them and down the hall determinedly. There was a force to his step that bade no one call for him lest they no longer wish to live.

Foster came into view then, shuffling into the living space with a haunted look about her. Eyes were wide, rimmed with lack of sleep, her nose dripping a little and her skin splotchy and pale. For a moment both men thought her ill.

"Foster?" Ragland asked tentatively, his brow furrowing a little. She startled and turned, looking at him for a moment as though he may devour her.

"Spending quality time with Mercer can have that affect on people," Eric chuckled a little nervously, moving toward her to take her by the arm and settle her into one of the cushions. "Just rest here a moment," he whispered, before going to make her a sandwich as well.

"I take it we weren't successful," Ragland called across the space where the kitchenette and living room connected.

"Nope," Foster croaked, staring at the far wall. Eric moved back into the kitchen area after giving her half a sandwich. He gave Ragland a pointed look and moved close to whisper.

"That wasn't fair."

"What wasn't fair?" Ragland asked, not looking at Eric as he worked on several samples. He placed a Petri dish under the lens and began moving knobs to focus in on what he was studying.

"Allowing him to take her… where ever."

"All of a sudden you're quite protective."

"It gets her further entrenched. I don't know if you've noticed, but we're not going to make it with this many people. We're busting at the seems already. Provisions are low and now we have two kids."

"I definitely didn't see them coming along," Ragland muttered, clearly distracted and hardly listening.

"Dammit Ragland, I have a high threshold for people's shit, alright? But not for letting others get away with whatever."

"So which is it, then?" Ragland stopped and stood straight, meeting Eric's challenging stare. "Are you being reasonable, or are you being protective?"

"Entirely both," Eric insisted. "You let him get away with however he thinks shit should be done around here and before you know it, none of us will be left."

"You think I have any control over what he does?" Ragland countered, his whispering harsh and filled with irritation. His eyes quickly scanned the room, a little nervous in their trek. Eric bit his lips, clenching and unclenching his fists, before he glanced at the adjoined room, back at Ragland, and then nodded at the far side of the kitchen where a set of stairs led down into the morgue.

"What?" Ragland asked, not comprehending.

"He still cares about her. And you're in charge of taking care of her," he explained. Ragland took a moment to understand that he was talking about Dana. The doctor shook his head, laughing a little in disbelief.

"It doesn't make any difference," Ragland dodged the subject, and Eric could see it.

"It does," he insisted. "You can easily use that—"

"Look," Ragland held up a hand to stop him. "I know what you're going to get at, and I'm going to let you know that it would all end badly. Just understand me when I say this; it makes. No. Difference." Ragland shook his head as he flippantly switched up the light on his microscope and capped the Petri dish. He placed the sample in the freezer and removed his glasses to clean them.

"Get some rest Eric," he said, removing himself from the kitchen and heading toward one of the rooms.

"You kids can sleep here or in the spare bedroom on the left if you like," he said as he passed. He didn't address Foster as he made his way to find respite.

* * *

Alex sat in the morgue on one of the slabs, the stillness comforting to him. Upstairs, even though they whispered, he heard everything that passed between Ragland and Eric, as well as what the television was belching out into the living room. The doctor was a smart man, he thought to himself. He picked at his fingernail, wondering at the skin that overlapped them, and how pulling at the sides accompanied thought in some people's memories.

He stared at the cot across the way, the form that lay on it shadowed in the corner. He no longer felt that attachment and unyielding responsibility when he looked at her laying motionless there. He looked for it, but didn't find it. It was disconcerting, as though he had lost what last strand of humanity was left hiding within him. Yet, similarly, he was relieved. He wondered if it were a temporary feeling after overhearing the two upstairs. The moment it was made aware to him just how much of a weakness she was, how others might use her against him, a ruthless part of him disconnected. He pondered over how long that might last.

Everything changes. Everything changed. It all was a molting process, a growth, a death, a motion driven existence of continual improvement or destruction; perhaps both.

Constantly evolving, right?

His cell phone rang.

"Mercer," a familiar, gravelly voice spoke as soon as he'd picked it up and placed the receiver to his ear.

"Cross."

"We have a unique rescue mission."

"Does it have anything to do with Gentek?"

"I wouldn't be calling you if it didn't."


	8. Intermission

**A/N: There's two very good reasons I haven't updated this story. One, my crazy schedule got even crazier. Somewhere in the middle, I moved a thousand miles away from home. The other reason is because of Prototype 2. **

**I never anticipated the first game. I became obsessed with it purely by accident. My sister wanted to get it, and did so for Christmas. She started playing it and got frustrated early on, forcing me to help her. I eventually got so involved in the story and the main character that I quickly started my own game. When I heard there was going to be a sequel, like many of you, I was way too excited for my own good. It wasn't long until it became clear that there would be a new character, many questions left unanswered, and that the main character of the first game was going to be the villain. I remained optimistic, met many of the people developing the game, and pre-ordered the 80 dollar version of it. I felt that, even if we had to kill the main character of the first game, at least we'd learn something about him further, right? Perhaps we'd come to understand how the primary conflict (Self VS Identity) had driven him toward the villain's role.**

**When the game first came out, I couldn't play it. I picked up my copy but was just too busy. I finally beat it, and this is where I stand. No matter how optimistic I was about the story, I hated Heller. I hated the things he said. I felt like I was playing COD and really wanted to mute the speakers so I didn't have to hear his attempts at sick bravado. I couldn't relate with him at all. I don't even know how Blacklight/Zeus got to saying the things he was saying. It was like he consumed one too many Gentek doctors and just... became the people he hated the most. I felt like I picked up the sequel to an amazing book to find I was reading a terrible AU fanfiction version of it. Heller didn't even question the morality of his powers like Zeus did. He wasn't conflicted over having them at all. He was obsessed over getting his daughter back, only expressed restraint toward a commanding officer he felt was like him, and was pretty much an actual ass no matter how the player played him. The surface plotline was no different from the first character's (revenge), except that Heller KNEW what he was doing. He was human, re-written by the virus to have exceptional powers, and still had no remorse. That PTSD man... gotta really fuck you up seeing as he didn't even flinch when he consumed and destroyed other living people for the first time. His overall reaction was... THAT WILL COME IN HANDY (sounds like a psychopath to me). Zeus, on the other hand, who actually IS the virus, confused, without any human memories to fall back on, was /horrified/. I felt that Blacklight's character had been trumped to make Heller look more appealing. Yet, instead of looking to P2's version of Zeus to compare, I kept looking back at the original Zeus of P1 and thinking... damn... Heller's a fucking asshole.**

**The graphics were beautiful, the animation much smoother, the mechanics absolutely wonderful. The symbolic coloring and the fantastic cutscenes were lovely. I kept thinking... if only the story were better. If only the main character wasn't a jackass. He acted like the people who troll over COD that I just can't stand, and I had to listen to him throughout the whole game with cheesy lines attempting to appeal toward people only playing the game for carnal pleasure. I found myself missing the depth of questions, probing, insecurity, and dynamics of character development that we saw in Zeus. I differentiate between Zeus and Alex Mercer because the human Alex Mercer WAS an asshole. My favorite part in P1, which I had never seen coming, and completely threw me for a loop, was when we all find out that your main character is actually just a virus. He's not infected. He IS the virus. Holy crap! There were no unique plot twists in P2. And every moment Zeus came on the screen and started talking I got a massive eye twitch and cringing issues. This was not the character I played in P1. Yes, I read the comic. I'm not convinced that some random chick caused him to lose his faith in humanity. If Karen Parker couldn't do it, then I doubt anyone else could. I won't even pretend he had any faith in humanity to begin with.**

**What would have been interesting? A story of how Alex became a villain. And, I COULD see that as plausible. Remember when he said all the leaders were dead... except him? And then smiled? Totally possible for him to accept a villainous role against humanity. Playing him in the sense that carries him there would be a completely unique plotline. Losing Dana, the only tie to humanity he has, and conquering Manhattan as the only means to control the infection he was trying to destroy. A couple stories I've read on here even have great ideas into plots to carry the story with Alex further, to answer all the many questions that arose in the first game. Plot twists and further character development on a character that can actually develop. Heller lacked room for development. He was made to be a "badass motherfucker" and that was that. What made the first game so powerful for me was that the story was actually UNIQUE for a videogame. As well as the main character, who had all the potential to destroy humanity in a lazy weekend, but chose to uncover the truth instead.**

**My sister and I both can agree that the second game is beautiful for everything except its story and its main character... which is the only reason WE play games. I get attached to characters and their stories. The idea that a virus gains sentience is beyond fascinating to me thanks to P1. Which leaves me at a bittersweet point with my story. I'd love to continue it pretending P2 never happened. Again, I have no problems with Alex becoming a villain. But for the love of game design, I wish he'd had reasons that aligned with the character we left off with at the end of the first game.**

**On a separate note, my story is so old that there are parts of it I absolutely hate. I'm refraining from rewriting it entirely for the sake of actually getting out new chapters. I'm unsure if I will actually continue it, but if the inspiration strikes you may well see new chapters. I do want all my readers to know that I am very grateful for your support and feedback.**


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